What I thought I'd left behind
by HoVis
Summary: Malcolm Reed receives a letter he isn't sure he wants to read... Warning: Harry Potter crossover. Inspired by the Order of the Pheonix. COMPLETE, YAY!
1. Chapter One: Unwelcome requests

**A/N:** I've updated this slightly... please enjoy, I know it's a crazy idea!

**Chapter One**

_By command of the Order..._ Malcolm Reed did not want to be reading this, not now, not ever.

_It has been reported, from reliable sources..._ Why did they have to contact him, didn't they realise he wanted nothing more to do with his roots?

_There will be a meeting on the evening of the 4th of December..._ Christ. Did that mean there were others?

_You are required to ascertain that the following people are present... _Why did he have be the one to do that? Why not one of the others?

_The ministry is trying to deny the truth, yet again..._ Malcolm snorted. Like that was a surprise.

_Yours, Avery._ Avery? Hadn't he been killed by... _him _a year or so back? Malcolm sighed - this was the last thing he needed. He glanced at the list of people, and was surprised to see at least a few friendly names on the list.

_Sato, Hoshi (Ensign)..._ That was hardly unexpected - Malcolm had always suspected there was more to the pretty young linguist than met the eye.

_Lungbarrow, Elanor (Crewman 1st class)..._ She'd been a year below him at school, and one of the best keeper's he'd ever seen play.

_Yates, Mark (Crewman, 2nd class)..._ Malcolm didn't know much about him, but he had a feeling that he was one of the crewmen who worked in the Quartermaster's store.

_Tucker, Charles the III (Commander)..._ Trip? Malcolm could hardly believe it possible. He'd always seemed so... normal, somehow. Too normal to be... well, like him. Sighing, Malcolm stood up. It was the 3rd of December today. He had a lot of issues he needed to deal with before the next evening.

888

"What are you doing here, Malcolm?" Trip's voice was dripping with disbelief.

"Same reason you are, hopefully." Malcolm replied tartly, gently closing the heavy, titanium - reinforced door to cargo bay three.

"What? You aren't - I mean - "

"Yes." Malcolm cut him off. "I am. Like you, I mean."

"And how'd' you know I am what you think I am?" Trip was ruthlessly glaring at his friend, still unable to see the truth. "Because I read the list, Commander." Malcolm was getting slightly exasperated - why couldn't the Commander just believe him, he didn't want to talk about it! If he'd had his way, he wouldn't have come to the damn meeting in the first place. It was just, he agonised to himself, he was needed, to report on whether everyone asked to attend actually did. It was his duty, he told himself, and he always to his duties very seriously.

"You - you're the one the ministry appointed?" Trip, once again, sounded disbelieving, but this time there was a hint of awe as well.

"Yes." Malcolm replied tersely. Tucker knew better than to press him any further. There was only one other person in the cargo bay with them - a young woman Malcolm recognised as Crewman Elanor Lungbarrow, from Stellar Cartography.

"You were Seeker for your house weren't you?" She unceremoniously broke the uneasy silence which had descended upon their small group of three. Malcolm hesitated, before answering her with a curt nod.

"Yes. I mean, I was." He mumbled, slightly tongue-tied.

"I watched you play."

"I know." Malcolm allowed a small smile to grace his normally sombre face. At this, Elanor's face went through a number of expressions - surprised, flattered, and eventually downright embarrassed.  
"You were good."  
"Thanks." Their awkward conversation trailed away. Malcolm sighed with relief when the silence was broken by the sound of the door opening.  
"Evening Hoshi." He said, enjoying for a moment the look of absolute disbelief on the pretty Comm officer's face. But only for a moment- the situation was far too serious for that. Next came Crewman Yates, and, gradually everyone who had been on Malcolm's list trickled in.

There were twelve people in all - and each and every single one was greeted with surprised and disbelief from their colleagues. Though, who could blame them? Some, just like Malcolm, had kept their secret so well one would never even suspect there was something out of the ordinary about them. Others, like Hoshi, were so obviously unnaturally talented it was more than obvious as to exactly what they were.  
"Hey, Malcolm?" Trip spoke up as the low buzz of talking quietened down. "Don't ya think..." He indicated with his head towards the door, and Malcolm nodded, realising instantly what his friend was suggesting. Couldn't have anyone walking in on them, could they?  
"The honour is yours." Malcolm said, not meeting Trip's eyes. Trip squirmed for a moment, his cheeks turning ruddy.  
"I can't. I kinda. left my..." He trailed off. It seemed Malcolm wasn't the only one who was reluctant to say or do anything that might bring them back into the world they had so desperately tried to ignore.  
"This is going to be along, long night." Malcolm muttered to himself, as he reluctantly got to his feet, his hand going almost automatically to his pocket.

888

TBC...


	2. Chapter Two: How did it come to this?

**Chapter Two**

Malcolm Reed let out a small sigh of relief as he stepped into his quarters. It had been a long night of questions no one could answer, explanations no-one could understand, and revelations no-one wanted to hear.

And now it was done. Twelve people who had thought they had left behind a shadier side of their past were now faced with the irrevocable fact that they would soon not only have to face up to that fact, but that they would also have to reveal their true selves to their unsuspecting crewmates. And that was not an idea that Malcolm Stuart Reed really liked the thought of.  
He was exhausted. But, before he allowed himself to take those precious few hours of sleep he still had time for, he had one thing he needed to do.

Reluctantly he placed his hand in his pocket, and pulled out a small, bronze key, engraved with his initials. On his desk was a box he had placed there before he had left for the meeting, knowing it was something he would need before the night was over.

The key fitted perfectly into the lock, and the box opened, the dust rising from it causing him to sneeze. And there it was - a slender piece of wood, hornbeam, if he remembered correctly, 9 and a half inches long. The handle still fitted perfectly into his fist. He hadn't picked it up for years - hadn't needed to, hadn't wanted to. He remembered, all too clearly, the day he had got it... and the day he'd learned he was going to need such a thing.  
His father had sat down on the edge of his son's bed, a serious expression on his face. It was then that he'd enlightened his son to the fact that the navy wasn't the only family tradition he'd inherited. Five weeks later, Malcolm's bags were packed and he was on a train heading towards the far reaches of Scotland's highest peaks. His mother had believed he was going to the same boarding school as his father had, and his grandfather before him. Well, he was, but it wasn't exactly the type of boarding school she had though it to be.

Six years later his sister had joined him, just as full of wonder as Malcolm had been when he'd first arrived. But when he left the school, he realised that life wasn't quite so rosy away from the protective privacy of the place he'd called his home for the last seven years.

And so he, just like his father, and his grandfather before him, he locked away all knowledge of his... _abnormality_... and broke contact with anyone who might prevent him from leading a normal life.

But inevitably, he was drawn back in. He became quite successful, as a... security man, of sorts. Then one day, his cover was blown. Though in the end no harm was done, for Malcolm it was the last straw. And so he had locked it all away, once again, for good this time.

That was, until he'd received that _bloody_ letter.

888

TBC.

A/N: I was thinking about doing the next chapter partly on Trip's reflections upon the sudden revelations in his life - please tell me what you think!


	3. Chapter Three: Time to face the music

**Chapter Three**

Trip Tucker stepped into the turbolift, and inwardly winced as he realised that it was already occupied... by one of the crewmen who had been at the meeting the night before - Crewman Elanor Lugbarrow, he recalled fuzzily.

She gave him a stunning smile, one which would have usually had Trip Tucker practically on his knees in adoration. But this was different - everything was. His life would never be the same again after last night. Hell, he might not even survive long enough to get his head round the idea.

_No, must think positive!_ He urged himself, his mind wandering back to the speech Malcolm, their reluctant leader, had given them the night before.

_"We'll face things, in the coming months, or even years, which we could never have imagined in our worst nightmares." The Brit looked carefully around at the small sea of faces before him, each one reflecting his own serious-yet-determined expression._

_ "Some of us may come up against foes we cannot overcome - and some of us may not live to see the end of this "mission", into which most of us were probably quite reluctant to enter, myself not excluded. There are no certainties in this mission, but this I do know - the fate of Earth, and perhaps even the galaxies, stands upon the knife-edge of our triumph or failure._

_ We can, and will succeed, as long as we stand united. In two days time we will begin to prepare for the Last Battle - and anyone who does not wish to be party to this must speak up now. There will be no room for doubters where we're going."_

Not a single person had spoken. The pact was sealed, and nothing, not even the devil himself, could break them now.

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Malcolm Reed sat at his station on the bridge, waiting for the computer to finish running its diagnostic on the weapons systems. Usually he would have been fully alert; mind and body charged and ready for any problems which might arise.

But today his mind was elsewhere. His hand hovered almost constantly over the small pocket in the shoulder of his uniform, in which he had put the one weapon he had more confidence in than any other - phase pistols were no use against the Dark Lord.  
The Dark Lord. Just thinking about that evil demon of a man made him shiver. He'd faced him once before, and taken out more of his minions that any other Auror in modern history. Yes, an Auror. A 'security man', indeed. He had fought, day and night, against He Who Must Not Be Named for four years.

But then, as suddenly as he had appeared, the Dark Lord was gone. No-one could explain why, or how. He had been presumed dead for years.

Until now - except this time he had taken his War into space. He was dangerous. But so was Malcolm - and just because a man does not practise the darker side of his trade, that does not mean he is not able to wield that side.

888

A/N: Next chapter I'm thinking about showing a flashback of Malcolm's, back to when he was an Auror. What d'you think? Also, when I say "Dark Lord" I may or may not be talking about the Voldemort from the books - anyone got any ideas on the identity of this mysterious evil?


	4. Chapter Four: Why?

**Chapter Four**

_The wind was rushing about his ears. His black hair, normally so neat and tidy, was sticking on end, blood gelling it in position. He hated this. Malcolm Reed, a respected and learned Auror, forced to stoop to the level of pretending to be one of the Dark Lord's minions just so he could give the Council information they probably already knew anyway. _

_The brand on his right forearm burned viciously. The Dark Lord was calling him, oblivious to the fact that his favourite servant was in fact a traitor, an agent of the Council. Malcolm knew that if he was ever found out, he would be killed, and it wouldn't be a painless death. He'd see the Dark Lord torture men before, then kill them in the most horrific of ways. But he didn't care, overmuch... for there was a young boy lying dead on the ground before him. And it had been his hand that had done the...  
_  
Malcolm gasped as he awoke from his nightmare, his breathing shallow, mouth dry. He pulled himself up and stumbled over to his sink, splashing cold water over his face, his hands trembling. Slowly he pulled his sleeve up his left arm, revealing an ugly tattoo, which burned brighter than Malcolm could ever remember it doing.

A face, a face with a snake's tongue and slits for eyes. It was grinning up at him, cruelly reminding him of all the mistakes he'd ever made. Reminding him of all the times he'd been forced to do the Dark Lord's bidding, when he'd had to kill innocent people to protect his mission, his life.  
And now, here he was again, preparing to do the exact same thing. He could not stay on Enterprise. Not with the Dark Lord searching for him, for his servants, with all his will and power. If Malcolm took to long the Dark Lord would begin to suspect something was amiss, and would come after him. The Dark Lord had the power to destroy Enterprise on a whim, and her crew would be powerless to stop him. He could not put them in danger needlessly.

The meeting was tomorrow. He would tell Trip, and everyone else, then.

888

"Glad ya could make it, Loo - tenant." Trip's all-too-familiar voice broke into Malcolm's dark thoughts as he entered the cargo bay, the confident grin on his face almost breaking Malcolm's heart. Why? Why him? What had he ever done to cause the anger of whatever twisted being who ruled the universe they lived in? Why, now he had finally found a place where he was happy, where his past no longer haunted him, did he have to give it all up? Why was _he_ not allowed to have the same sort of peace of mind nearly every other sentient creature enjoyed?

_Because you're not like the rest of them,_ a voice in his mind whispered maliciously. _You never have been, never will be. The only ones who share your gift are either dead, or evil. It is your destiny. Even one with good intentions cannot prevail over the power of destiny._

Malcolm hated the voice inside his head. It had haunted him for years, ever since he had discovered the true scope of what he was, what he _could _be. He knew that it was part of himself which was dangerous, which could not be allowed to rule him.

_Quiet!_ The rest of his mind screamed at the voice, and it slunk away, into the murky depths of his subconscious, trailing one last thought behind it: _Don't blame me when it all goes wrong.  
_

"Malcolm? What's up?" Trip's concerned voice broke his reverie, and all other thoughts left his mind as he remembered what tonight was all about. Training. Perhaps... perhpas they didn't need to be told tonight, did they? Malcolm reasoned with himself. Teach them to defend themselves properly, and then you tell them. We can risk a few more weeks.

888

"They're doin' well." Trip drawled as he approached Malcolm, reading all-too-well the barely suppressed look of pride on his friend's face.

"They are." Malcolm surveyed the rest of the group like a hawk as they practised various methods of attack and defence. Trip was still hovering silently - a sure sign that he was about to broach a subject he knew Malcolm would be reluctant as hell to discuss.

"Ya seem a bit... distracted. Ya sure ya alright?" Trip eyed him carefully, and Malcolm felt his cheeks getting hot.

"I..." he trailed off, and Trip motioned for him to continue. "It's nothing." Malcolm said eventually, hoping that Trip would get the message, and leave him be.

"If it's 'nothin', then why are you lookin' so worried all the time?" Malcolm studied his friend's face carefully. The same bright blue eyes he'd always known, but they were not as carefree as Malcolm remembered. His eyes were filled with worry and concern, dark shadows circling beneath them.

"I'm just, worried, that's all." Malcolm replied eventually. "I don't know if we have the power to beat him. The Dark Lord." A lie, he knew. But a good one. Trip nodded, and Malcolm sighed quietly, relieved that, for the time being, his secret was still safe - and still secret.

888

_The wind was flowing through his hair, the rain lashing at his cheeks. Malcolm squinted, searching desperately for his quarry. His hands were gripping tightly to the wooden handle - he dreaded the moment he would have to take one hand off to capture his prey. _

_His prey. A tiny ball, metal, gold in colour, with a pair of tiny, magically-motorized wings. Above and around him, his team-mates were either dodging a pair of large, and extremely vicious black balls, chasing after an odd little red one, or circling a trio of hoops, trying to make sure no ball went through any of them. _

_It had seemed like a pretty strange game to Malcolm when he had first joined the school, but, after a time, he'd learned to love it. It was his one escape; from schoolwork, from family, from the real world. Up in the air, no-one cared about who he was or what he was like, just whether or not he could win the game for his team. It was absolutely exhilarating. _

_He turned, for a moment, to glance at the stands which held the Gryffindor supporters. And there she was - Elanor Lungbarrow possibly the only girl in the entire school Malcolm would ever dream of asking to the upcoming Yule Ball. But he probably wouldn't, because he was too much of a coward. Then, suddenly, a shout from his friend and team mate, Keeper Matt Bryes, roused him from his thoughts.  
_

_"The Snitch! Slytherin's gonna get it!" Bryes screamed, and Malcolm's eyes widened in horror as he turned to see what Matt was motioning so energetically at. The Slytherin Seeker was plummeting towards the ground, and Malcolm could just make out the tiny, glimmering flash of gold he was heading towards. Furious with himself for allowing such a thing to happen, Malcolm followed, urging his flimsy old broom to give in to his urgent commands  
_

_"Faster! Come on." He whispered, biting his lip. He was gaining on the Snitch. With one last burst of effort, he thrust his right arm out, knocking away the Slytherin's hand. when he realised that the Snitch was already safely in the Slytherin's fist. The cheers and cackles of laughter from the Slytherin supporters filled the stadium. Furious with himself, he returned to the ground, before, humiliated and depressed, he left the stadium. No one saw him in the common room that night.  
_

888

"Sir? Are you alright?" Elanor Lungbarrow smiled slightly as Malcolm Reed pulled himself from his memories and returned to the present time and place - which was the Mess Hall, 23 hundred hours, eating dinner together.

"I'm fine. I was just thinking about..." Elanor coughed; uneasy with the direction the conversation was headed. She'd had the uneasy feeling that Malcolm had been about to say "Hogwarts", or something of the sort, and that was not the sort of subject Elanor wanted to be discussing... especially not over a dinner she had been reluctant to attend anyway.

"Sir? I was wondering... why _did_ you ask me to dinner? Is it to do with the Order?" There, she'd said it. Malcolm smiled tightly, a nervous frown on his face.  
"Well, not exactly. I'm just doing something I should have done a long time ago." Elanor was confused - she had always been attracted to the quiet young man whilst at school, but had never thought he'd returned her feelings. He was two years above her - and she had never been able to work up the courage to ask him out, not even till the day he'd left.

But now... he'd changed. She hadn't known him particularly well before, but she had always thought of him as a warm, friendly, outgoing sort of boy. He was different now, more reserved. Cold, even. He bore little resemblance to the lad she'd had a childish crush on once, more than fifteen years ago.  
"I was wondering of you could give me some advice." He stated eventually, after a few more minutes of awkward silence. Choking, Elanor tried to come up with a decent reply.  
"Me, Sir? Surely Commander Tucker would be better at that sort of thing -"  
"No." Malcolm cut her off, holding up a hand. "I can't. I can't tell Trip." He sounded tired, exhausted, in fact. Exhausted like someone who had been battling with something for a very long time, but had just realised that the only thing he could do was surrender.  
"Elanor." He said, looking the woman straight in the eye. "Can you promise not to tell anyone what I am about to tell you? Can you keep this secret for me?"

888

_TBC._

A/N: Sorry if Elanor is turning out to be a Mary-Sue. I can't help it. I just can't. ;-)


	5. Chapter Five: An Curious Tail

**Chapter Six**

"Hey, Malcolm! What ah we goin' over today?" Trip asked his friend, almost as soon as he'd shut the door to the cargo bay. Malcolm answered immediately, no hint of uncertainty in his voice at all.

"The Unforgivable Curses." Trip's jaw dropped, as did the jaws of the five other people in the room. Apart from Elanor Lungbarrow, that was. She knew, everything, now, about Malcolm, about what he would soon be doing.

"Ya don't mean..." Trip trailed off, unwilling to finish the sentence. Malcolm did it for him a few moments later, with an air of calm reserve, as always.

"Yes. The Cruciatius Curse, the Imperius Curse, and. Avada Kedavra." The room fell silent, but Malcolm merely sighed and sat down on one of the smaller boxes, and surveyed the motley group.

"We have to be prepared to play dirty. The enemy won't hesitate to use any of those curses on us, you know that." Trip, however didn't look convinced.

"How would you know how to teach them to us? I mean, it's not like you've ever used them yourself." He trailed off as he saw the expression on Malcolm's face. "You've used them? But they're -"

"Illegal. I know." He held Trip's gaze for a moment, as though daring him to pry further, but Trip simply nodded and muttered something under his breath. The group were now watching Malcolm with a new sense of awe... and fear.

888

Malcolm entered his quarters, breathing a sigh of relief. It had been a difficult night. Trip hadn't helped one bit, with his almost constant stream of verbal challenges. In the end, Malcolm had pointed at the door and told him that, if he had a problem with what they were doing, he was always free to leave whenever he wanted to. Trip hadn't looked pleased, but at least he wasn't arguing about it.

And Trip hadn't been the only one unhappy with the direction the meetings were taking. Why couldn't they understand, that sitting around talking would do nothing! Couldn't they see that there was a war on? No, he mused; they couldn't, because none of them had actually fought against _him_. They hadn't had to endure the things he had.

Malcolm shivered. Just thinking about it, those dark years he'd had to endure for the Ministry, the things he'd done, the injuries inflicted upon him... He hadn't been being heroic, out on the hull in the middle of that minefield, barely three months ago, telling Archer he was prepared to die for Enterprise. He'd been ready to die at the hands of the Dark Lord for the good of the entire world. And he was still prepared to do so.

Once again, he pulled up his sleeve, revealing the tattoo, wincing as he took in the dark, nearly black shade it had taken. It hurt so much now that it felt as though he had a red hot poker being permanently held to his skin.

It had never hurt this much before - but he'd always come when called before. Much as though he would have liked to deny it, he did have all the qualities the Dark Lord required from a servant. And more.

He had the qualities the Dark Lord needed in a second in command, in an apprentice. He had a mind made for working its way out of dangerous situations, the ability to wield the most powerful of spells, and he had a gift which the Dark Lord treasured above all others. An ability which he shared with the Dark Lord himself. It was an ability which could not be learnt through knowledge or practice, but one which only the smallest scattering of wizards and witches were born with.

He could talk in the language of snakes - the most famous skill of Salazar Slytherin, the deceitful founder of the Slytherin house in the school of Hogwarts. And just like Salazar, Malcolm could lie and trick his way out of even the stickiest of situations. He was the perfect Dark Wizard.

Except for one thing - his conscience. He had never had the true ability to be purely evil. He could not, unlike some of the Dark Lord's servants, simply kill a chosen victim in cold blood without a prick of guilt. Every murder, every crime he'd been forced to commit under the Dark Lord's power weighed heavily on his soul. A death could move him to tears. He could fall in love, could laugh with a friend. He was not so inhumanly untouchable as the Dark Lord and his lesser servants.

Malcolm sighed and put his head in his hands. He needed a break from all this - the constant, gut-wrenching soul searching. Sometimes he wished he was little more than a simple animal, with nothing more to worry about than survival.

At this thought, he nearly laughed, the solution was so obvious. He had become an Animagi secretly many years ago, but had only used the skill a few times, when trying to evade capture. Though he was still human, more or less; but whilst in animal form his mind did work a lot more simply. The creature he had chosen as an Animagi relied far more on instinct than complex thinking for survival. With a tired smile on his face, he reached in his pocket for his wand.

A few moments later, there was no sign of the short, dark-haired man anywhere in his quarters. Rather, a large wildcat lay curled on his bunk, its tail swishing happily in pleasant dreams.

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	6. Chapter Six: What Could Go Wrong?

**Chapter Six**

Malcolm carefully shut the door to the cargo bay behind him, surprised to see most of the group already there. Odd. He'd arrived especially early just to get everything ready.

"Hi Malcolm." Trip wore an infuriating grin upon his face as he greeted Malcolm, which immediately set of the alarms going in Malcolm's head. Any time Trip was grinning like that was a sure sign that he was up to some new mischief. Mischief usually having something to do with trying to see how red Malcolm's face could go when embarrassed - there'd been the Christmas karaoke just less than a year ago, when he'd forced Malcolm to get up and sing, the New Year's party when he'd dared a certain foolhardy young lady to kiss him when the countdown to New Year reached one. Whatever it was this time, it didn't spell good news for Malcolm.

It had been three months since Malcolm had first received that letter from the Order, and in that time there had been neither sight nor sound of the Dark Lord. The group had become relaxed, for once, and most of the meeting's were spent discussing old school memories. Malcolm for one did not argue with this - his brand didn't hurt half as much anymore, though that may have just been the painkillers he was stealing from sickbay when Phlox wasn't looking. What could go wrong?

That could, Malcolm thought, his eyes alighting upon the doorway, in which stood a terrifying sight. Elanor Lungbarrow, carrying a cake. A birthday cake. With thirty-four candles on it. Oh, God. Malcolm groaned. He had completely forgotten what the date was, there being very little sense of time passing out in space. And it wasn't like his birthday was much to look forward to, anyway. All of a sudden he was being clapped on the back; having his hand shook, people were grinning. Someone had put some music on. Probably Trip.

"Happy Birthday, Sir." It was Elanor. Malcolm smiled, forgetting for a moment his mounting embarrassment, concentrating rather on how lovely the young woman looked at that moment. Her auburn hair was down, for once, curling slightly 'round her face, her blue eyes reflecting perfectly the radiant smile on her lips.

Snap out of it! It's never going to happen, is it? Malcolm mentally chastised himself; furious at the way he turned into a love-sick teenager again whenever he got near to her.

"Thankyou." He returned her smile, albeit rather weakly.

"Here ya' go Malcolm." Trip had sauntered over, two foaming mugs of beer in his hands, one of which he handed to Malcolm. Where they'd got all this stuff Malcolm did not know. He could only hope they hadn't acquired it through... _unsavoury_ means.

"You do know I am going to get you for this, don't you, Trip?" He muttered to his friend once the crowd had moved away, only half joking.

"Yeah, right, Malcolm." Trip grinned, a grin which made Malcolm extremely tempted to get out his wand and perform the most unpleasant jinx he could think of.

"Anyhow's, Malcolm, heard anythin' from the Council recently? About, y'know, _him_?" Trip's gaze was suddenly serious, his voice and expression grave. Malcolm frowned slightly, unsure of how to answer.

"Not recently, no." He paused, choosing his words carefully before proceeding. "I think... that he may be laying off a bit. Call it a sixth sense, if you will. But - that doesn't mean we can afford to become complacent." Trip nodded, wisely not pursuing the mystery with which Malcolm kept his sources of information in. With that, Trip moved away, leaving Malcolm alone to watch the party, mulling over his beer and his ever-increasing predicament.

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As soon as Malcolm stepped onto the bridge he knew something was wrong. The lights were low, and the tactical alert was flashing. He'd been called up from his quarters by the captain himself - never a good sign when it had only just turned midnight.

And there, spinning slowly on the view-screen, was a planet Malcolm was bloody sure hadn't been anywhere near in range the night before. _The Dark Lord._ The thought had only just flashed across his mind when he felt a searing pain in his arm - his tattoo was burning, it felt as though someone had stuck a knife deep into his flesh and was twisting for all their worth...

"Malcolm? Are you alright?" It was Archer. Quickly, calmly, he collected himself. It was not yet time for Archer to know. Not quite.

"I'm fine sir." And before anyone else could say another word, he hurried towards his station, relieving the poor, terrified kid who had been on night duty when they'd discovered the mysterious planet.

"What's the need for the Tactical Alert in this situation, sir? I mean, surely this is Science's problem?" Archer looked as though he was about to get angry for a moment, then he mellowed.

"We've detected a primitive weapon's silo down on the surface. It appears to be somewhat similar to those used in the Third World War - a nuclear reactor - and it's been pointed straight at us ever since we got within orbit. But we've been unable to locate any life down on the surface. We believe it may be automated."

Malcolm paused for a moment before replying, taking a quick look at the readout on his console. Archer was right - according to sensors, it was little more than a primitive weapons silo. But Archer didn't know the things which Malcolm did. Tentatively, he used the slightly blurred sixth sense which all wizards possess, to see whether or not there was any magic apart from that of his crewmates going on nearby.

And there was. The showdown would be today. Carefully, making sure that none of the crew, most of all the captain, did not see what he was doing, he reached into his breast pocket and tapped the tiny communications badge Hoshi had made up for every member of the group.

_"If one of us has reason to believe that we are in danger, they simply have to tap their badge and it will alert the rest of the group." She had explained during one meeting. "When you feel this badge vibrating you are to make your way to this cargo bay as quickly as possible."  
_  
By "in danger" she meant if they thought the Dark Lord was near. But Hoshi, as usual, was having trouble adjusting to such new and frightening things, and could not bring herself to say those few, awful words. Within a few minutes, the entire group would be crowded into the cargo bay, awaiting his orders. He had to decide what to do, and fast. He needed to get some of his 'team' down on that planet...

"Sir." He spoke up, after a few moments of heavy silence. "I suggest that we take a team down to the surface to investigate the matter. Preferably crewmen who have had some experience with this type of weaponry." Archer nodded, not realising the true weight of what his tactical officer meant by 'this type of weaponry'.

Malcolm took this moment to glance over at Trip, who had been throwing him alarmed glances whenever he could. It was obvious that the "badge" had worked.

"I want you to get a team together, Malcolm. Four of your best people. Meet me, Trip, and Hoshi down in Launch Bay One in two hours time." Malcolm nodded, before standing up and heading towards the turbolift. He had a lot to do before those two hours were up.

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	7. Chapter Seven: The Last Battle

**Chapter Seven**

"Sir? What's happening?" Elanor Lungbarrow was the first to speak when he entered the cargo bay.

"It's time." He answered simply, knowing that every single person in that room understood all too well what he meant. There was a collective intake of breath from the group. When he turned back to Elanor, her face was pale.

"What are we going to do?" Once again, the pure weight of command made his shoulder's sag and his heart plummet.

"I think..." He began, his voice hoarse. Every eye in the room was upon him, awaiting his decision. He was trembling, he realised, he was terrified. Failure would be tantamount to a death sentence. _But screw your courage to the sticking-post and we'll not fail!_ An old line from Macbeth, the Shakespeare play he had studied many years ago whilst at secondary school, came back at him like a ton of bricks. At the time he'd found it boring, even pointless. Now he was hanging on to the encouragement in Shakespeare's words like a drowning man to his rescuer.

A sudden confidence coursed through him, and he continued, his voice strong and unflinching.

"I believe that the dark Lord may have taken up "residence" on the planet we are currently orbiting. There are signs of Dark magic about. The captain believes this to simply be a matter for security to deal with. I can take four people - I want the rest of you to follow, any way you can. You must be prepared to use force against your crewmates to get to the surface. Hijack the shuttlepods, commandeer the transporter, Apparate - I don't care. Just get down there as fast as possible. Any questions?" The group was stunned momentarily into silence, before Elanor took a deep breath and stepped closer towards him.

"Which four people will you be taking, sir?" He looked into her eyes for a long moment. In a perfect world, he would have chosen Elanor as one of the four, straight off. She was one of the best in their group - and she was one of the few who had had no qualms about learning the Unforgivable Curses. He knew he could trust her.

But there was no way he could explain to the captain why he had chosen her. She was one of the lowest ranks on the ship, a worker in the Quartermaster's store, the girl who sorted through the dirty uniforms. Starfleet had no idea how skilled she was.

"There are four members here, I believe, who are members of the security team. They are my four." He watched as those four people stepped forward, sheet-white and terrified.

"I want you to Apparate down as soon as you can, Elanor. Do you think you can do that?" She held his gaze once again, her grey eyes stony and determined.

"I can try sir."

888

The atmosphere in the shuttlepod was cold and grim. Archer was surveying the five security men one the bench at the back of the shuttlepod with confusion. He had no idea why they were so worried about such a "simple" away mission. Malcolm laughed to himself. Typical muggle. Except they weren't allowed to call them that any more, were they? Malcolm remembered distantly. The Council said it was "politically incorrect". Malcolm tried to keep his mind off the fast-approaching ordeal he would soon have to endure with trivial thoughts such as those.

"We're here." Trip's voice broke the stony silence, and Malcolm gave him a small nod of encouragement. The captain made for the hatch, but Malcolm got there first. Opening the shuttlepod hatch to the harsh alien air, he headed out unhesitatingly into danger, and, quite possibly, death.

888

The air was heavy with the scent of fear. At least, that's what it seemed like to Malcolm. The men beside him reeked of it. Even Trip was looking pale. Archer, of course, was still confused. Hoshi was looking determinedly at her feet, taking deep, calming breaths. Except it didn't seem to be calming her down much. Strange...

Malcolm was as calm as anything even though, by rights, he should have been terrified.

Then again, perhaps it wasn't that strange that he wasn't worried. He, after all, was the one person among them with the power and knowledge to stop the Dark Lord once and for all.

They were getting closer to the source of the magical anomaly, Malcolm could sense it. Even though all his scanner was telling him was that they were getting closer to the mysterious "weapons silo". It was night time where they were, and so foggy you could barely see three feet in front of your face. It was cold, too. The harsh wind bit at his exposed skin like knives. His wand was in his top pocket, and his hand was hovering near it, ready to get it out at any sign of magical danger.

"So. You have returned." Malcolm jumped, and stared wildly around.

"Malcolm? What's wrong?" It was Archer. Malcolm looked at him, hoping against hope that he hadn't heard what he thought he just had.

"Did you - did you hear that voice?" The entire group, including Hoshi, looked at him quizzically.

"All I can hear is the wind." Hoshi stated, raising her eyes from the ground long enough to meet his gaze. Malcolm took a deep breath, and walked on, his sense pricked for any sign of anything out of the ordinary.

"Your are coming to close. Traitor." That voice again. It was the Dark Lord, speaking to Malcolm in a language even Hoshi could not understand. He was trying to distract Malcolm, trying to push him off balance enough to have an opening through which to attack.

"You fool, Reed. You would have been the perfect apprentice. The perfect Dark Wizard." He would not listen to that voice, he would be strong! Malcolm fought with himself, with his fears, with the temptation within him which screamed at him to go to the Dark Lord as his servant, to beg for his forgiveness like a creeping rat.

And then they found themselves surrounded.

"You know, I would have expected more of you, Reed." A silky voice spoke from the circle, and a tall figure stepped forward. The figure lowered its hood and stepped into the moonlight, staring at Malcolm. Malcolm raised its head and met the glowing green eyes with defiance.

888

TBC.

A/N: So, have you figured out who the "Dark Lord" is yet? evil grin Bye for now!

HoVis


	8. Chapter Eight: I Choose To Live

**Chapter Eight**

"I'm not afraid of you." Malcolm stated defiantly, staring into the eyes of the man who had ruined the lives of hundreds of people, who had hurt and even killed people he, Malcolm, loved and cared about. "I'm not afraid of you... and I never was." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Archer inching towards him, a look of total disbelief on his face.

"Malcolm, Trip - what's going on?" At this the man whirled around, his wand now upon Archer.

"Step any closer, Muggle, and you will wish you had never been born." The Dark Lord hissed threateningly, and Malcolm spoke up.

"It would be best to do as he says, Captain." He nodded curtly at Archer, who, though clearly bewildered by the advice, stepped back, his eyes dubiously following the wand which was pointed straight at his heart.

"Now." The Dark Lord hissed, content that Archer was no threat. He turned back to Malcolm, who also had his wand out, clearly prepared to use it.

"It is time to finish you off, once and for all." Malcolm didn't even flinch as the Dark Lord's wand turned towards him.

"I would think it was the other way round. You taught me well, you see. I know the killing curse just as well as you do." The Dark Lord smiled in cruel amusement, and Malcolm watched as every man but he shivered in fear. Even the Dark Lord's minions were afraid of him.

"Ah, but do you not remember? Only a wizard who knows my real name has a chance at all of killing me. The prophecy, remember." His voice was like a snake's, clam and silkily dangerous.

"I remember." Malcolm replied, pretending to look resigned to his fate. How well he remembered.

But then he smiled, and pulled out a small piece of parchment from his pocket. Upon it were two words - a name. The name he needed to rid the world, the universe, of this dreadful specimen of evil. He dangled the paper in front of the Dark Lord, just close enough for him to read it, but not yet close enough for him to be able to grab the precious scrap of worthless-looking parchment. He allowed himself a tiny smile of vindictive pleasure as he watched the man's eyes widen in horror, and heard the sharp intake of breath.

"When you first created your "army" you called yourself _Voldemort's apprentice_." Malcolm began, taking his time, enjoying having the man who had once treated him as a slave completely and utterly under his spell.

"You asked those of us most loyal to you to call you by that name, and you took the name of the wizard you had defeated. You claimed the Philosopher's Stone for yourself... an artefact you had once fought to keep from the hands of evil." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hoshi's eyes widen in realisation. She nudged Trip, and whispered something in his ear. He too, looked at Malcolm in astonishment.

"You tried to break into the Chamber of Secrets at Hogwarts, a chamber in which you had once fought for the power of good.

"You murdered people. You tortured and killed those who had once fought alongside you, who had once been your friends." The words were flowing without stem now, his confidence was building, and he truly dared for the first time to hope that he had a chance of defeating Voldemort's "apprentice".

"Ironic, isn't it? You killed Voldemort, as it had been prophesied you would, you rid the world of evil. then you became evil yourself. You took the place of that evil." He was ready now, to use his worst and last weapon.

"Didn't you? _Harry Potter_."

The Dark Lord stared at Malcolm, his eyes blazing fiercely.

"You sneaky little bastard, Reed." He hissed, furious. Malcolm smirked, easy in the knowledge that he had the clear upper hand as far as this fight was concerned. He sneaked a glance at the Death Eaters surrounding them. He saw more than a few familiar figures among the group. He smirked again. They would soon either be dead, or in Azkaban. They would learn what it really meant to bear the consequences of one's crimes.

"Well. It seems like you have only one option, if you are truly the man you claim to be. So: A challenge. Are you prepared to fight me in a fair duel?" The other wizard stared daggers at Malcolm, but lowered his wand nonetheless.

"Just us?" He asked after a time of cold silence. Malcolm nodded.

"Just us. The winner walks from this place unscathed by his enemy's comrades, and the loser... will be sent to meet his maker." The Dark Lord seemed to look almost cheerful at this thought.

"A deathmatch?" He grinned, a grin which reminded Malcolm all too strongly of a snake's smile before he bears down upon his prey. However, there was no quaver in his voice as he replied.

"A deathmatch." Hoshi let out a cry at this point, looking terrified.

"Malcolm, no! You can't - he'll kill you - "

"_Stupefy!_" She was cut off by a disgusted Dark Lord, and she had hit the ground before Malcolm had had a chance to catch her. Her whirled towards the other man, furious.

"You broke the rules of the duel!" His rival did not reply, but merely raised his wand, and stepped closer towards Malcolm. His Death Eaters followed suit, and the circle became even tighter. It was all too clear what they intended to do. Simultaneously, they both raised their wands.

"Crucio!" He screamed, but Malcolm was ready. As he ducked, he sent a spell back.

"Expelliarmus!" Unfortunately, his opponent was not disarmed, but the spell did throw him off balance slightly. Malcolm took the opportunity to snatch a quick glance at how the others were doing - Trip was crouching beside Hoshi's body, defending her from any hostile spells. His four "boys" had taken to staying as close to the Captain as they could, struggling to stop him from doing anything stupid. Archer, it seemed, was under the disillusioned impression that he could overcome the Dark Lord with a phase pistol. Malcolm chuckled slightly, still dodging spells which were being attracted towards him with the speed and frequency of machine-gun fire. He was constantly sending Disarming and Stunning spells over his shoulder, not knowing if they were hitting enemy or friend. It seemed to matter very little - they were losing badly anyway.

Dammit, where _was_ Elanor? He thought with frustration. At that very moment a figure Apparated right in front of him. It was Elanor, and she was grinning.

"Sorry we took so long." And with that, she was off, spinning about and firing spells with deadly accuracy towards the Death Eaters. All about him, his comrades were appearing, either by Apparation or by transporter. Soon the entire group was down there, united in a fight they had been preparing for ever since they had united together, those three long months ago.

Suddenly he was being wracked by a terrible pain - it felt to him as though his entire world was exploding, it hurt too much for him even to scream. And as suddenly as the pain had started, it left him, and he gave in to the darkness which had been threatening to overtake him ever since he had received that letter.

888

White... there was nothing but white, stretching up in front of him and behind, below and above him. He had no sense of up or down, no sense of true physical self. He seemed to be floating, free of all the worldly restrictions which had so bound him before. What had happened? The last thing he could remember was fightingthe Dark Lord, then pain, such pain. Suddenly he noticed a figure standing before him, a figure bathed so brightly in white light that Malcolm could not make out any features at all. The only thing which distinguished the figure from its surroundings was a slight darkness which shadowed its edges.

"Why did you leave them?" The figure spoke, in a voice which was neither male nor female, neither young nor old.

"Leave them - what - who -"Suddenly he found he couldn't speak. The person before him, it seemed, wanted no interruptions.

"You allowed Death to take you, even though you have so much to live for. I know what you are thinking, feeling, in this moment, but the future is not wholly bleak." The voice washed over him, soothing him, like the gentle lapping of water upon a riverside.

"You have found again a person you thought you would never speak to again. You imagine what your future might be like with her by your side. But you will have no future if you give up now." And as suddenly as it had appeared, the figure was gone, leaving Malcolm alone in the bleakly bright landscape. The figure had said that there was hope for him, and the others. And all of a sudden, he knew what he had to do.

"Send me back." He whispered.

888

TBC...


	9. Chapter Nine: It Is Finished

**Chapter Nine**

With a great roaring rush of sound and light, Malcolm was thrown back into reality, and the chaotic anarchy of the battle. He was lying on his back, the Dark Lord standing above his body, a look of triumph upon his twisted face.

_Of course._.. the Dark Lord thought he was dead. Quickly, quietly, he turned into his Animagi. Where the body of a dark-haired human had just lay, a large wild cat stood, it's back arched, eyes wide against the dark night. Malcolm purred with vindictive pleasure as he watched the Dark Lord spin around in confusion, searching for his prey. In a flash, Malcolm pounced, claws outstretched. With a yowl, he grabbed the Dark Lord's robes as best he could, and hung on for dear life. He watched as Voldemort lost his grip on his wand and it rolled away, much to the fury of its owner... he just hoped that Trip, or Ellie, would take the distraction as a chance to recite those two deadly words.

But they were otherwise distracted, Malcolm realised, as he looked 'round, his cat's eyes searching deep into the night. But it wasn't quite night anymore, the sun was rising; a reddish hue was appearing on the horizon. It was at that point that he remembered an old story his father had once told him.

_"Just make it through 'till dawn, and you know you'll be alright." _His Dad had been talking about storm's ships had to endure at sea, not duels with one of the most dangerous wizards in the world, but Malcolm supposed that his words could apply to either. It mattered little.

With a frustrated "meow" he transformed back into a human, and had his wand immediately upon the worthless waste of a man lying on the ground before him. The man laughed, an infuriating cackle which sent shivers down Malcolm's spine.

"Very, very good Reed. I had no idea you were an Animagi." Malcolm said nothing, merely aimed his wand closer. The fallen hero raised a single pale eyebrow, watching Malcolm's wand slightly dubiously.

"Surely you wouldn't kill me, Reed?" He asked, slightly mockingly, and Malcolm stepped even closer.

"Oh no." Malcolm hissed, a vindictive smile upon his face, so quietly that no one but the Dark Lord could hear him. "Death would be too good for you. It's Azkaban for you, "_my Lord_". The greatest punishment a wizard can bear... and you can keep the Philosopher's Stone. Then your punishment will be eternal." Malcolm was shocked at how much pleasure he drew from saying those few words. With a whisper to his wand, coils shot from it and bound the Dark Lord so tightly he had little chance to breathe, let alone escape.

Malcolm bent down and picked up the dropped wand, and snapped it in half. The phoenix feather within it fluttered to the ground, lost forever, just like the lives of the people the Dark Lord had so cruelly taken.

Malcolm stood there, watching over his captive charge, until the fighting at last died down, and all of the Death Eaters had been subdued. Most were bound in the same way Malcolm had tied their leader, but he saw a few who were still and lifeless, their broken bodies littering the ground. Malcolm felt a flicker of remorse for the men, but it was soon drowned by his bottomless hatred for any of the Dark Lord's supporters.

All twelve of his group had survived, though some were hobbling along with help from comrades, but otherwise they were mostly unhurt. Ellie and Trip approached, both looking exhausted, but smiling all the same.

"Look's like we made it, eh, Malcolm?" Trip grinning, as he embraced his friend. For a moment Malcolm stiffened, his instinctive British reserve kicking in, but then he relaxed, realising that they could all have died that night, and that he should be grateful for every moment he had with those he cared for. As soon as I get back to Enterprise, he thought, I'll write a long letter to Mum and Dad, and apologise for the fool I've been. And Madeline, I've been so stupid not to contact her in all the two years we've been out here. Then Ellie stepped forward, grinning just as Trip had.

"You were brilliant, sir." Malcolm, too, smiled back.

"Less of these "sir's", Crewman. I do have a name." She raised an eyebrow in a look of mock effrontery.

"And so do I. You know - "She was cut off by an extremely groggy Archer, who had only just come round from the Stunning he'd received earlier.

"Malcolm? What the hell is going on?" Malcolm glanced up at the other two, smiling slightly.

"I'll let you two explain..." Then his eyes lit up. "Or we could just go straight for a Memory Charm... who's the highest bidder?"

888


	10. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

"So, it's all over, then?" Trip leant back on one of crates in the cargo bay, a relieved smile on his face. Malcolm nodded, his own face mirroring the same relief and happiness that the nightmare was all over.

It had taken them over five hours to alter everybody's memory of the last evening, and remove all evidence of what had happened. They had even changed the ship's clock, and wiped all sensor readings from the black box. The crew would wake up in about an hour or so.

But, in the meantime, they were celebrating - some, like Trip, were simply sitting around chatting, and other's, like Elanor, were dancing to - by some miracle of Hoshi's - music from the Wizard's Wireless Network, tankards of foaming Butterbeer in their hands.

Someone had also brought a few crates of Fire Whisky, but Malcolm had immediately put his foot down, telling them it wouldn't do for anyone to have a hangover the next morning - and Fire Whisky, he knew from experience, was strong stuff.

As the music paused for a moment Elanor sauntered over towards where Malcolm was sitting, a slightly tipsy grin on her face.

"Fancy a dance, Malcolm?" She grinned, knowing full well that the uptight Brit was definitely not the type to dance, particularly not to the sort of music the put on the WWN. Or any sort of music, for that matter. Malcolm rolled his eyes, but stood up nonetheless.

"I suppose I owe you one." He muttered grudgingly, but inside he was actually rather flattered that such a pretty young woman wanted to dance with him, even if she was only doing it for his embarrassment and the laughter of others.

The music started, once again, and Malcolm groaned. It was a particularly slow one - and all around him couples were wrapping their arms around one another, calm smile's on their faces. Elanor, he noticed, was grinning more than ever.

"Come on then!" She grinned, pulling him towards her. Malcolm swallowed, his mouth dry. He had absolutely no idea what to say.

"Don't say anything." She murmured, getting closer, the same smile on her face. He could see Trip grinning at him out of the corner of his eye, and he glared at him. The song was an eerie, floating one, and it almost reminded Malcolm of a calm sea, swaying in the night's breeze. Perhaps, he thought, drinking in the soft scent of Elanor's perfume, he had finally found what he'd been looking for... someone with whom to share his future.

And right now, that future looked just fine.

888

**A/N:** Yay! It's over. I wrote this fic about two years ago and never finished it, so I decided to have a quick edit and to hack the ending down a bit. I hope you enjoyed it!


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